The Bookcase Incident
by LNicol1990
Summary: First week on the job, Cullen gets a surprise when a certain elf-mage decides to maroon hereslf on top of a bookcase. Why? Rated for implications.


Cullen shifted slightly at his post. He was no stranger to standing at attention for hours on end. He'd been training to be a Templar for several years, and he knew what the task encompassed.

He'd just had no idea that it was so _boring._ He'd come to the Circle Tower no more than a week ago and had seen nothing exciting at all. At the least, he would have thought that he'd have seen some apprentice miscast a spell or something like that. But no, no out of control fire, no sudden changing of a person's hair colour, nothing.

All he'd seen were mages sitting down in the library and reading. Just what could he possible watch for when someone is reading?

_Maker, help me, for pity's sake,_ he prayed. He hadn't even been here for a week and he was already being driven mad with boredom.

"I can't believe _I_ have to do this," a young, dark-haired mage complained as he stormed into the central library. "I mean I'm her _friend,_ it should be _wrong_ to send me for the First Enchanter."

"What's going on?" Cullen asked, in spite of knowing that he wasn't meant to talk to the mages.

The apprentice stopped and turned to Cullen. He didn't speak for a moment, scrutinising Cullen with the same intensity Knight-Commander Greagoir had given him on his first day. Then apparently satisfied, the apprentice relaxed slightly.

The young man looked like he was only a couple of years younger than Cullen, sixteen years old perhaps. His hair was a dark brown, as was his eyes. He had pale skin, and that was as far as Cullen bothered to observe.

"I've been sent by the Senior Enchanter to fetch First Enchanter Irving," the apprentice explained. "I don't want to, though."

"Why?" Cullen frowned curiously. "What's happened?"

"They just keep telling her to come down; they haven't even tried asking her why she's up there," he continued, apparently not listening to Cullen.

The young man then huffed and continued to the stairs. He bounded up them, taking two steps at a time. All the while, Cullen could swear that he was muttering profanities.

Interest peaked, he looked over to the other library. He knew that was where the apprentices practised their magic, and wondered what she had done… whoever 'she' was. He had been hearing a lot of noise from over there, but he hadn't thought it too loud or overly aggressive. He certainly hadn't thought it important enough for him to investigate.

There were currently no mages in central library, and therefore he had nothing to watch. Deciding that he might as well take a look, he quietly walked over to the door and stuck his head in to see what the commotion was.

Sure enough, there were several mages, Senior Enchanter Wynne included, were standing around. All of them were focusing on the same thing though, and it was above them. Whatever they were looking at, they were getting very annoyed.

Intrigued, Cullen looked up also and almost shouted in surprise.

There 'she' was. She was a young elf mage, probably fifteen years old. She had mouse brown hair tied back into a ponytail with two strands falling down either side of her face. Her eyes were green, from what he could tell, though he could identify the shade. And, she was pale skinned, though, fair might have been a more appropriate word.

She was sitting down, her knees up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her shins. There was nothing unusual about this, except that she was perched on top of one the bookcases. And, judging by her demeanour, she had no intention of coming down any time soon.

"You will come down this instant, young lady!" one of the mages demanded. "You are disrupting the classes."

"I'm disrupting? _I'm disrupting?_ I'm just sitting up here! I'm not doing anything, I'm not randomly yelling at the top of my voice!" the elf protested. "You're the ones who are making a big deal about all this! You're the ones who won't let classes start! I'm not doing that! I'm not making you do that!"

"What in the…?" Cullen muttered to himself.

"Young lady, you will come down from there before the First Enchanter arrives or so help me-"

"Not listening. I'm not listening to this! La la la la la la!" she sang tunelessly, covering her ears with her hands.

The mages sighed in exasperation. Senior Enchanter Wynne turned and spotted Cullen standing at the door. Seeing that he'd been noticed, the young Templar straightened up and walked into the room. This was far from what he wanted, he really didn't want to be the centre of attention, least of all from a mage.

"What, err, seems to be the problem?" he asked, praying that he sounded like some form of authority.

"She won't come down, that's the problem," Wynne replied in a tired tone.

The elf jutted her chin out defiantly. She wriggled slightly on her perch and then stilled, as if to further dig herself into her location. The look on her face couldn't be anything less than challenging; she was daring Cullen to try his luck in getting her down.

Well, he was a Templar. It was his job to keep mages in line. He stepped forward and craned his neck back so that he could see her. Those bookcases were incredibly high, and he had to admit a little respect for her having the guts to go up there in the first place.

"What are you doing up there?" he asked, though he could hear the curiosity in his voice, rather than annoyance.

"I'm sitting, what does it look like I'm doing?" she replied cheekily.

"Why?" he pushed, ignoring her attitude.

"Why am I sitting? Because there isn't enough room for me to stand," she shrugged.

Cullen didn't speak for a moment. He could see that she was goading him, trying to make him blow a fuse or leave, her smirk was proof of that. He took a deep breath and decided to take a different route.

"How long have you been up there?" he queried.

"Three hours, I think," she answered.

"Haven't you been missing lessons?"

"Yeah, but I brought my books up here so I could read," she explained, holding up a tome for him to see. "But no one's left me alone so I haven't had the chance."

"How long were you planning on spending up there?" he asked incredulously.

"Umm… most of the day, really," she admitted. "I got myself some bread and cheese from the breakfast table, and a pitcher of water."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to get hungry, besides, I haven't taken that much," she objected.

"It's impossible to get an answer out of you, isn't it?" he asked irritably.

"Maybe you're not asking the right question," she hinted.

"Why are you sitting on top of the bookcase?" he enquired after a moment's pause.

The elf was silent as she looked at him. She seemed to be searching his face for something, not that he knew what. Confidence, perhaps? Trust, maybe? Whatever she's seen in him, it makes her sigh, and she seems to wilt slightly.

"I'm sick and tired of being pinched," she explained. "Almost everyday, there's someone pinching or slapping my ass, touching my back way too much, or flicking my hair. Do I have a sign on me that says 'Pinch me, paw me, slap or grope me'?!"

Cullen fought down a bark of laughter at her question, her little rhyme dripping with innuendo. The moment she'd said pinched, he'd thought she was referring to some racial action against her. But instead, she was been harassed?

"Have you spoken to First Enchanter Irving about this?" he questioned.

"I've tried talking to him for the past three weeks," she assured. "But every time I go near him, he's always busy with something! I swear: the man has no free time."

"Well…" Cullen racked his brain for a suitable proposal. "Why don't you come down, and I'll take you to the First Enchanter myself?"

"That's really nice of you," she smiled gratefully. "But I don't want to risk being attacked by the ass-pinchers."

The mages cringed at her choice of words, while Cullen fought to keep his face straight. He could see a hint of a mischievous smile on her lips, and knew that she was partially enjoying seeing the mages uncomfortable. He guessed that this was probably some sort of payback to her teachers. Maker knew he'd had more than a couple uncomfortable stares from his instructors.

"Besides," she continued seriously. "He's probably doing something important, and I'd just be bothering him."

"I'm sure I can make time for you now, my child," First Enchanter Irving promised as he stepped into the library, Knight-commander Greagoir entering two seconds after him.

"Uh-oh," the she-elf muttered to herself, shrinking as Greagoir trained his eyes mercilessly on her.

"I think it's time you came down from there," Greagoir announced.

"Yes ser, I would ser. But…" she looked over her shoulder. "I sort of pushed the ladder away, and I can't get down."

Cullen looked further down the bookcase and saw the sliding ladder. Taking pity on the poor mage, he walked over and pulled the ladder back round to her. She was still for a moment, before collecting the tome and small bag of food and water and timidly reaching her foot out towards the first step.

She took her time getting down, but not too slowly as to further infuriate Greagoir. Cullen could swear that he saw the man smouldering, and he could tell that the girl was going to verbally grilled. His heart went out to her in sympathy.

She didn't speak to him, or even look at him. Her head was down, her eyes focused on the floor. She scampered away to stand silently by Irving, making sure that she stood as far away from Greagoir as was physically possible with the First Enchanter standing between them.

Irving placed a hand on the she-elf's shoulder and led her away. She didn't protest, and refused to meet anyone's gaze. After they left, the senior mages sought out their respective classes, leaving Greagoir and Cullen alone in the library.

"Dismissed," Greagoir muttered as he left the room, Cullen guessed to follow Irving and the elf-mage.

Cullen didn't see her again for another week. He was watching the library, with nobody in there, when she walked in. He watched her climb a ladder, pick out a tome, and then make her way back down.

"Not interested in the top?" he asked jokingly, a smile tweaking at his lips.

She whirled round, surprised that someone was speaking to her. It took her a moment to realise that it had been him who had addressed to her. It took another moment for her to recognise him. She smiled mischievously.

"The Senior Enchanters placed wards on top of all the bookcases," she explained. "They repel anyone who tried to get on there. Besides, it wasn't that comfortable up there."

"Oh," he murmured. "How's the, uh… problem you had?"

"You mean the harassment thing?" she giggled. "Turns out it was just some male apprentices who really like me. They were too shy to actually come and talk to me, so they just thought they'd make do with trying to touch me. They've all apologised for making me uncomfortable."

Cullen didn't speak again. He looked over his position, checking that no one else had come in without him noticing. Nope, still alone. He looked back to find her still staring at him.

"You're new to the Tower, aren't you?" she enquired curiously.

"Umm, yeah," he nodded. "This is my second week."

"Wow…" she awes before giggling. "First week, and you had a crazy, harassed elf-mage stranded on top of a bookshelf. I've heard that it's been dubbed 'The Bookcase Incident'."

Cullen didn't reply. He knew that he shouldn't be talking to her. He knew that he should ignore her. But, he couldn't help but smile. She was just that kind of person you can't help but talk to.

"What's your name?" he asked, realising that he didn't know, nor had he introduce himself.

"Oh, I'm Rowan," she replied brightly. "What's your name?"

"Cullen," he answered.

She smiled at him and then returned her attention to the book she had. He didn't say anything more, and watched her study. Finally, when the sun had set and the candles were lit, she stood up, returned the book to its shelf and started to leave the library.

"Good night, Cullen," Rowan called to him as she walked down to the female dormitory.

Cullen mumbles a return sentiment, and finds his eyes glancing downwards. He had to admit to himself: those mages had good taste.


End file.
